The village square bustled with life, the morning air filled with the sound of chatter, the clatter of wooden carts, and the distant ring of a blacksmith’s hammer. It was a stark contrast to their arrival, when whispers had followed their every step, suspicion lurking in every glance.

  Now, there were waves, nods, even grins, as if a weight had been lifted from the villagers' shoulders. A young woman, who had once hurried her children away from them, now gave Elara a respectful incline of her head. A burly man at a stall raised a hand in greeting, his fingers still dusted with flour from shaping the morning’s bread.

  Del took it all in, curious. ‘What changed?’

  He smirked slightly. ‘Seems they don’t have an issue with elves anymore.’

  From the corner of his eye, Del saw a small shape hurtling towards them—fast and determined.

  “Elara!”

  Elara barely had time to turn before Naomi crashed into her, her tiny arms locking around Elara’s waist with the sheer force of a child who had no intention of letting go.

  “Mummy told me you got the Night Man!” she exclaimed, her words rushed with excitement, as though she had been waiting all morning to say them.

  Elara laughed, easily lifting Naomi off the ground and spinning her once, her grip firm but affectionate. “And we couldn’t have done it without you,” she said, her voice warm.

  Naomi squirmed happily, giggling before wriggling free. “Nate, Nate, I know where you are hiding!” she shouted before tearing off down the street, her voice ringing like a triumphant war cry.

  They watched as she disappeared around a corner, her voice ringing through the streets like a triumphant herald.

  “I bet she’s cheating,” Elara chuckled, shaking her head.

  Del smirked. “No doubt.”

  Paolo’s office was a hive of activity, papers spread across desks, aides moving swiftly between tasks. The low hum of conversation filled the space, broken only by the sharp scratch of quills and the occasional rustle of parchment.

  At the centre of it all, Paolo stood engaged in an animated discussion, his voice low but firm as he gestured towards one of his aides. The moment he caught sight of them, however, his expression lit up, and he disengaged immediately, striding towards them with an outstretched hand.

  His grip was firm as he clasped Del’s in greeting, his enthusiasm undiminished by the long hours he had no doubt already put in. Then, turning to Elara, he pulled her into a quick hug before stepping back and taking both of Vita’s hands, his sharp gaze sweeping over her, assessing.

  “You look much better than when we parted last night, my dear woman,” he said, his tone both warm and concerned. “How are you feeling?”

  Vita smiled, inclining her head slightly. “I have been better, Elder,” she admitted, “and I will be so again.”

  Paolo grinned. “Excellent.” Then, with a sweeping gesture, he motioned them forward. “Come this way. We have much to talk about.”

  He led them past scribes and messengers, through the main hall and into his private office, shutting the door behind them. The space was comfortable, well-worn but orderly, its walls lined with shelves stacked with leather-bound records and thick ledgers.

  Paolo gestured towards a cluster of chairs arranged around a low coffee table.

  “Sit, sit.”

  As they settled in, he reached for a cord near the wall and gave it a sharp tug. A moment later, the door cracked open, and a young woman peeked inside, her expression expectant.

  “Can you fetch us a pot of tea and some biscuits, please, Sara?” Paolo requested.

  The girl nodded, disappearing without a word.

  As the door swung shut again, Paolo sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I’ve given Emily a couple of days off to recover,” he explained. “She’s staying with her brother for now.”

  Del nodded in approval. “Are the others managing to get back on their feet?”

  Paolo exhaled through his nose, considering. “Breeda will need some time,” he admitted, turning to Vita. “If you could look in on her, I’d be grateful.”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Vita nodded immediately. “Of course.”

  “The lads, though?” Paolo continued, a small smirk forming. “They were all raring to get back to work the moment they woke up. Barely had their feet under them before they were off to check their homes, their stock, their livelihoods. I expect the tavern will be full tonight.”

  Del could imagine it already. A rowdy mix of tall tales, exaggerated adventures, and sheer, overwhelming relief. A chance to drink, laugh, shake off the weight of fear and survival.

  ‘A night of letting our hair down and getting absolutely wrecked. Sounds like a blast.’

  Paolo’s expression shifted then, settling into something more serious.

  “And what about you?” he asked, eyes sharp as they flicked between Del and Elara.

  “Do you have any idea yet what all this was about?”

  Del met his gaze, his face grim.

  He nodded.

  Del reached into his pack, fingers brushing against aged leather, worn smooth by time and use. There was something oddly heavy about it—not in weight, but in presence, as if whatever lay within had not been meant for other hands to hold.

  He set it down between them with a dull thud, his fingers lingering a second longer than necessary.

  “I found this,” he said, his voice lower than before. “Some kind of journal. But I can’t read it.”

  Vita, who had been watching him closely, extended her hand. “May I?”

  Del passed it over without hesitation. The book was old but sturdy, the leather worn smooth by years of handling. Vita ran her fingers along the spine before carefully opening it, flipping through the pages with a scholar’s patience.

  While she studied the script, Del reached into his pocket and withdrew a second document—the letter he had found alongside the journal.

  Clearing his throat, he began to read aloud.

  Ishmael,

  In the cavern of ‘Ithnor’ complete the circle and initiate the Rite of Krator.

  Find suitable conduits and be ready to complete the process on the new moon of Shoole.

  The heaving will come early this time.

  They will not be ready.

  C

  As Del read the last word, the air in the room felt different—tighter, heavier, as if the very walls had absorbed the weight of the message.

  When he looked up, Vita was frozen.

  The journal lay abandoned in her lap, her fingers still half-curled around the edge of a page.

  Paolo had gone pale, his fingers twitching against the arm of his chair.

  A silence settled between them—thick, expectant.

  Then Paolo spoke, his voice not quite steady.

  “What in all the demons’ hells…” he spluttered. He turned sharply to Vita. “Do you know of these things? What does it mean?”

  Vita exhaled slowly, a rare flicker of uncertainty in her expression. “I know little of these things,” she admitted. “But I can make some educated guesses.” She held up one hand, ticking points off on her fingers.

  “The cavern of Ithnor—I would imagine that’s the place where you rescued us.”

  “The Rite of Krator,” Elara added, leaning forward, “must have been the ritual he was preparing for.”

  Paolo’s frown deepened. “And the new moon of Shoole… that’s in two days.”

  A heavy silence fell over the room.

  Two days.

  Whatever had been planned, whatever horrific purpose the ritual was meant to serve—it had been dangerously close to completion.

  Paolo exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his greying hair. “Bringing in the heaving more than a hundred years earlier than normal…” He shook his head, his voice quieter now, edged with unease. “That would have been a disaster.”

  He turned back to Del and Elara, his gaze steady now, the weight of his gratitude clear.

  “We are in your debt,” he said solemnly. “Had you not arrived when you did, I doubt we would have ever gotten to the bottom of things in time.”

  Del shifted slightly in his seat, but before he could respond, he caught Vita watching him.

  She said nothing, but her expression spoke volumes. A silent agreement with Paolo’s words.

  And yet… her focus had already drifted back to the journal.

  She flipped another page, her brow furrowing in concentration.

  Something inside that book had her attention.

  [Quest completed: Experience gained. Renown gained in Village of Stonebridge.]

  Vita’s brow furrowed as she continued flipping through the journal’s pages, her fingers moving with careful precision.

  “Most of this… I can’t read,” she admitted, her tone edged with quiet frustration. “Mages use a different kind of arcane script to alchemists.”

  Del smirked slightly. ‘I guess you all like to protect your secrets.’

  She didn’t look up, still absorbed in her study. “From the layout, though, it’s a spellbook of some sort.”

  She turned another page. Then another. The parchment was aged but well-kept, the ink sharp despite its years.

  Then she reached the centre.

  On one side, a large arcane symbol sprawled across the page, bold and deliberate. On the other—tight, indecipherable script, the ink darker, as though written with greater urgency than the rest of the text.

  The sharp gasp that escaped Vita’s lips wasn’t just shock—it was something closer to revulsion.

  The sound ripped through the room, making Del’s pulse jump as his hand instinctively tensed at his side.

  Del flinched instinctively, his pulse kicking up

  Vita stared at the page, her head shaking slowly, almost as if she were trying to deny what she saw, her breathing uneven, her head shaking slowly.

  “No,” she muttered under her breath. “No… no.”

  Del leaned forward, his voice careful. “What is it?”

  Vita didn’t look at him. She just lifted a single, unsteady finger, pointing at the arcane symbol scrawled across the page.

  “This sign…” Her voice was cold, but beneath it was something else. Something tainted with something close to fear.

  “I know it.”

  There was a weight to those words, something deep-rooted.

  Something personal.

  Del had seen Vita in pain, exhausted, even fearful. But never like this.

  A tight, visceral disgust underpinned her words, curling at the edges of her voice like something foul tasted on the tongue.

  He didn’t know much about magic, but he knew enough to recognise that whatever was on that page… it wasn’t just dangerous.

  It was worse.

  Vita swallowed, inhaling through her nose as if trying to steady herself. Her fingers curled into a tight fist, as if merely touching the page had contaminated her.

  “It is the mark of Zelore.”

  The name fell into the room like a dead weight, a name that carried something old, something wrong.

  A name that meant something.

  Something bad.